Thoughts on Marriage
Quiet Time
Dave and I had a lot going on when we were first married: we were in a church that met at least three nights a week, we each had a full-time college class load, and we both had part time jobs.
But in June of 2010, we both got our degrees. And in October of 2010, we left that busy church. Our lives have quieted down a lot, and the quiet has been good for us.
Dinner has become an important part of our evening rhythm. We both get home from work at about the same time, and I put together a simple meal. There's an unassuming melody to it, a gentle heartbeat. I ask how many tator tots he wants, and he always says 15. I knock on the study door when the food's about done, and he gets my silverware and napkin for me. I hear the scraping legs of unfolding TV trays in the living room as I dish up his plate. If it's early enough, we watch the news on PBS; if it's later, we watch Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune, guessing aloud the questions and puzzles. There isn't much visiting, but we get to be quiet and together after our day apart.
And sometimes, on good nights, we'll go out on the scooter together. One night, a quick errand to Target turned into a night cruise around the northern end of the city. Dave went west on 161, and as we passed a high school football stadium, he pointed up at clouds of insects blanketing the stadium lights. By the time he lowered his arm, mayflies - thousands, tens of thousands - were suddenly all around us. I was laughing, in hysterics. I felt their bodies splatter on my shins, and shielded myself behind Dave. He kept trying to cover his mouth, their wings and legs and abdomens colliding with his face and glasses, but it was difficult to steer through the thick cloud one-handed. I reached my hand around to cover his mouth, and could feel on my knuckles the bodies he would've swallowed. We were soon out of the cloud, but I had the giggles for miles. When we got home that night, we didn't say much; my hair was a wind-torn wreck and my shins were streaked with grey wings and bug guts and I reached for Dave's hand as we walked inside. That, too, is our quiet time together.
Strength from Struggles
So my engagement and early marriage were busy, filled with the normal busy goings-on of school and work and church. It was also an unusually action-packed time of our lives: The summer of our engagement, my father's second marriage was ending. Shortly before we graduated from college, my grandmother passed away. And before our second anniversary, we went through the long and painful process of leaving our old church.
Let's just say, it's not a package I would have dished up for myself as a marriage-starter.
But I still remember a conversation I had over coffee with this young guy in my old church. It was March of 2010, and we were talking about the difficulties my husband was encountering with his then-mentoree. Unexpectedly, my coffee mate asked, "How is your marriage doing?" I surprised myself when I said, "Actually...really well."
I stopped to think about my answer. I didn't change it.
It was true. In all the surrounding chaos, Dave and I had learned how to draw together.
Yesterday, I found a long note from Dave in the back of one of my journals. "I've got your back," he said in the middle of it. The phrase reached out from the page and held me with his arms. He had given me the note as encouragement in the midst of leaving our old church.
Crises have never pulled us apart - rather, they have always pulled us together. We never mistake each other for the enemy, and understand the care and forebearance the other needs. He needs me to sit with him and be quiet; I need encouragement and flowers. And hugs. And a carton of ice cream.
Like I said, I wouldn't have chosen the struggles we went through, especially so early in our relationship. And, make no mistake, the struggles were awful, painful. But I am exceedingly grateful for the unity, the good habits, the strength we've acquired as a unit through those hard things.
And speaking of gratefulness...
Gratefulness
I've said it before, but it bears repeating and repeating again: find a reason to say "thank you" every day. It sounds simple, even simplistic, but I cannot express how important it is, even for the smallest of things. Thank you for washing the dishes. Thank you for changing the oil in the car. Thank you for holding the door open for me. Thank you for cleaning the litter box, especially because it was my turn and you know how much I hate doing it.
Each thank you is a small recognition of the efforts of the other in the relationship. I'm grateful that you help me. I'm grateful that you're here. I'm grateful that you're with me. That little message, stacked up day after day, is a powerful reserve of love. Do it. Use it.
Quiet Time
Dave and I had a lot going on when we were first married: we were in a church that met at least three nights a week, we each had a full-time college class load, and we both had part time jobs.
But in June of 2010, we both got our degrees. And in October of 2010, we left that busy church. Our lives have quieted down a lot, and the quiet has been good for us.
Dinner has become an important part of our evening rhythm. We both get home from work at about the same time, and I put together a simple meal. There's an unassuming melody to it, a gentle heartbeat. I ask how many tator tots he wants, and he always says 15. I knock on the study door when the food's about done, and he gets my silverware and napkin for me. I hear the scraping legs of unfolding TV trays in the living room as I dish up his plate. If it's early enough, we watch the news on PBS; if it's later, we watch Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune, guessing aloud the questions and puzzles. There isn't much visiting, but we get to be quiet and together after our day apart.
And sometimes, on good nights, we'll go out on the scooter together. One night, a quick errand to Target turned into a night cruise around the northern end of the city. Dave went west on 161, and as we passed a high school football stadium, he pointed up at clouds of insects blanketing the stadium lights. By the time he lowered his arm, mayflies - thousands, tens of thousands - were suddenly all around us. I was laughing, in hysterics. I felt their bodies splatter on my shins, and shielded myself behind Dave. He kept trying to cover his mouth, their wings and legs and abdomens colliding with his face and glasses, but it was difficult to steer through the thick cloud one-handed. I reached my hand around to cover his mouth, and could feel on my knuckles the bodies he would've swallowed. We were soon out of the cloud, but I had the giggles for miles. When we got home that night, we didn't say much; my hair was a wind-torn wreck and my shins were streaked with grey wings and bug guts and I reached for Dave's hand as we walked inside. That, too, is our quiet time together.
Strength from Struggles
So my engagement and early marriage were busy, filled with the normal busy goings-on of school and work and church. It was also an unusually action-packed time of our lives: The summer of our engagement, my father's second marriage was ending. Shortly before we graduated from college, my grandmother passed away. And before our second anniversary, we went through the long and painful process of leaving our old church.
Let's just say, it's not a package I would have dished up for myself as a marriage-starter.
But I still remember a conversation I had over coffee with this young guy in my old church. It was March of 2010, and we were talking about the difficulties my husband was encountering with his then-mentoree. Unexpectedly, my coffee mate asked, "How is your marriage doing?" I surprised myself when I said, "Actually...really well."
I stopped to think about my answer. I didn't change it.
It was true. In all the surrounding chaos, Dave and I had learned how to draw together.
Yesterday, I found a long note from Dave in the back of one of my journals. "I've got your back," he said in the middle of it. The phrase reached out from the page and held me with his arms. He had given me the note as encouragement in the midst of leaving our old church.
Crises have never pulled us apart - rather, they have always pulled us together. We never mistake each other for the enemy, and understand the care and forebearance the other needs. He needs me to sit with him and be quiet; I need encouragement and flowers. And hugs. And a carton of ice cream.
Like I said, I wouldn't have chosen the struggles we went through, especially so early in our relationship. And, make no mistake, the struggles were awful, painful. But I am exceedingly grateful for the unity, the good habits, the strength we've acquired as a unit through those hard things.
And speaking of gratefulness...
Gratefulness
I've said it before, but it bears repeating and repeating again: find a reason to say "thank you" every day. It sounds simple, even simplistic, but I cannot express how important it is, even for the smallest of things. Thank you for washing the dishes. Thank you for changing the oil in the car. Thank you for holding the door open for me. Thank you for cleaning the litter box, especially because it was my turn and you know how much I hate doing it.
Each thank you is a small recognition of the efforts of the other in the relationship. I'm grateful that you help me. I'm grateful that you're here. I'm grateful that you're with me. That little message, stacked up day after day, is a powerful reserve of love. Do it. Use it.
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